


Look Alikes

by Pastel_Teacups



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: But it turns into love, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:12:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1929714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_Teacups/pseuds/Pastel_Teacups
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan looks like Enjolras. Grantaire looks like Courfeyrac. They have to be enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look Alikes

It wasn’t remotely healthy, what they had. 

They’d simply started off as friends, roommates. It was nothing more. Until it was. 

Jehan was completely and utterly in love with Courfeyrac. Every time Grantaire turned to the poet at a meeting, he’d find him staring at the back of Courfeyrac’s head dreamily. And that was okay. Courfeyrac hardly paid any attention, though broke Jehan’s heart every time he brought another woman he was courting into a meeting. 

Jehan would never tell anyone, but he’d give anything to simply be a one-night stand.   
But he never was. 

Grantaire couldn’t exactly blame the small boy, after all. He had his own vice. 

Enjolras was beautiful, with his strong voice and and fierce eyes. He scowled every time Grantaire walked through the door, like he was a nuisance. Maybe he was. 

Neither Enjolras nor Courfeyrac loved their admirers. 

It hurt. Grantaire couldn’t deny the pain that shot through his chest whenever Enjolras told him how useless he was. He vaguely wondered what it was like to be ignored entirely, but he would never ask Jehan. Never.

And then, one day, Jehan crawled into his bed in the middle of the night. And through Grantaire’s smoke-screen of sleep he looked _just like_ Enjolras, blonde hair and skinny framework. And he supposed with Jehan in the same state, he bore some sort of resemblance to Courfeyrac. Because when he woke up late in the morning, they were both naked and tangled up with one another. Grantaire remembered that Jehan called the wrong name when he had his nails seared into Grantaire’s back, gasping. 

And so did he. 

The arrangement went on for a long while. Jehan would slip into his bed late, and there’d be murmurs of names that weren’t theirs and quiet sound filling the silence. 

In the morning, Jehan would let Grantaire pull him close to his chest and hold him tightly, both of their eyes closed. Both imagining different people. 

Eponine learned about it first, but only the half of it. They were just dating, in the eyes of their friends. 

Enjolras had asked Jehan where his wits had gone. Grantaire only grit his teeth and took another drink. 

Courfeyrac had congratulated him. He didn’t so much as glance at Jehan. 

The boy sobbed that night, curled carefully against Grantaire’s chest on the sofa. The brunette could do nothing but hold him, stroking his fingers down his back and hope he was enough like Courfeyrac to suffice. 

It went on like that for a while. Grantaire did what he could for Jehan, and Jehan did what he could for Grantaire. It was an unspoken truth between them, that they were doing this for others. Jehan tried to tell Enjolras that Grantaire really wasn’t that bad. His words fell on deaf ears. 

Grantaire gave Jehan marks, because he wanted them. He knew too well that Jehan hoped that Courfeyrac would see them, that he would feel some twinge of jealousy towards the drunkard who’d supposedly captured Jehan. So he littered him with purple bruises above the neckline, finger-shaped marks that could be seen if Jehan left enough space between his jeans and sweater. 

He never noticed. 

But they kept trying. They had to. 

“You know,” Jehan said softly one late night, still breathless from their previous activities. “We could’ve actually dated. If we hadn’t started so fucked up.” 

Grantaire closed his eyes, his arms wrapped warmly around the poet. “Maybe. If only we ever bothered to try.” 

There was a moment of silence, and Grantaire felt tears wet his chest. 

“I hate this.” Jehan gave a sudden sob against him. Grantaire only ran his fingers through the poet’s hair, his mind generating _Jehan_ now more than _Enjolras_. 

“We both do,” He whispered in return, untangling the man’s hair slowly. “We could backtrack. Try to have a real relationship. A healthy one, I mean.” 

There was a very long moment of silence, before the head against his chest moved in confirmation. “Okay.” 

“Okay.” Grantaire repeated back to him. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” 

There was another very long beat of silence. Then, Jehan spoke. 

“We don’t need them.” 

Once again, silence filled the air. Because both of them knew that those words weren’t true. 

But they kept trying to believe it. They had to.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments + Kudos are always appreciated!


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